By the Book
by Charlotte A. Cavatica
Summary: Gotham's Marriage License Office get a visit on a rainy day. Calloo callay? Sequel to Rain On A Gray House.


**A little present for The Glorious Cheshire Cat, in honor of her natal day. This can more or less be construed as a sequel to Rain on a Gray House, if only because Alice is not playing on the side she's _supposed_ to be playing on...**

**Enjoy, my ducks! And remember, please, that I do not own these characters, except Mr. Finnegan Hare...literally, Mr. White Rabbit.

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It was a rainy Wednesday in early spring, and the Marriage License Office was as dead as a doornail. It had been an unseasonably cold March, and though weddings did happen all year 'round, it was profoundly unlikely that anyone was going to be coming in to get permission to marry in the near future. The weathermen were reporting another two solid weeks of ugly weather, which might not have mattered in winter weather, but for spring? Intolerable. Spring was for outdoor weddings, and everyone knew it.

Thus, Finnegan Hare was the only clerk on duty during lunch hour. The others had gone out to the pub across the street for a pint and hot soup, but Finnegan—well, he was a rare breed: a true bureaucrat. He not only did his job; he did it happily. And someone would man the office, pointless or not.

It turned out to be not.

A man in a long dark coat and—of all things—an old-fashioned top hat approached the office's clear glass double doors. Rain dripped off of his hat, falling down to make small damp marks on his spats. His face currently hidden by his hat, he held the door open for his companion.

Finnegan immediately lifted his eyebrows. The woman was young—no more than a girl, really, dressed in a sharply white dress. She was bare-shouldered, even in weather like this, her dress held to her body by two thick, lace-trimmed straps. The bodice was crumpled and stretched slightly across her torso, the skirt falling in smooth curve, the hem also laced. She lowered her white umbrella and closed it with lace-gloved hands, smiling up at her gentleman as she took his arm. She turned her eyes over to the clerk.

"Good day," she greeted him, "we're here to apply."

Finnegan sniffed, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Obviously."

The young woman smiled more broadly and brushed her blonde hair over one ear. She squeezed her companion's arm gently.

"We're so very excited," the blonde assured Finnegan. "How do we begin?"

"First, I'll need to see some type of legal identification. Then we can get to the paperwork. It will need to be processed while you are here, so I hope you aren't expecting to get in and out quickly."

The girl nodded. "Of course. Darling? Did you remember to bring our cards?"

"As if I would ever forget, my love," the man replied. Finnegan had the strange inkling that he had seen the person before…heard his voice somewhere. But…

No, that was absurd. He'd never seen this man before in his life.

"I will need identification for both of you," he said irately. "Or parental consent for you, young lady."

The blonde lifted a hand to her chest. "I beg your pardon?"

The man discreetly coughed into his gloved hand—how strange. Germophobes?—as he looked through his wallet. "I believe this gentleman thinks I am 'robbing the cradle,' Alice dear."

The woman let out a bright little peal of laughter. "Oh, how very surprising! No, Mr. Hare, I assure you that I am definitely of age. My fiancé will prove it—he carries the documentation, you see. I can't keep a hold on a handbag for my life," she explained, still giggling softly. Finnegan frowned.

"Very well. If you will produce the documents…"

"Of course," the girl nodded, taking a small stack of cards from her gentleman. She held them in her hands, checking them. "Yes, yes, here they are. All right, Mr. Hare, I—" She looked up at him. "Oh."

"What is it?" he asked impatiently. "I have quite a lot to do today, miss, so if you don't mind…"

"We wouldn't want him to be late," the man observed, and he and the girl laughed together for a moment.

"It's nothing, sir, it's just…well…your hair, I'm afraid. There's…er…something _in_ it."

Finnegan ran a hand through his hair. _His_ hair? Unheard of! He was always immaculately turned out. "Better."

She shook her head. "Not quite."

He ruffled harder. "Now?"

"No," the blonde said. "You've nearly got it…here." She reached out, the cards tucked between her middle and ring fingers, her fore-finger and thumb ready to pinch out the offending particle.

Everything went dark.

--

"…Hare? Mister Hare? Oh, thank goodness…his eyelids are fluttering. Mister Hare? Can you hear me?"

Finnegan's eyelids were indeed fluttering. The voice he heard was awfully musical and familiar…where had he heard it before. "Wha…where…?"

"Oh, Mister Hare, you gave us such a fright!" the blonde woman beside him said. She helped him into a sitting position.

"Who…who are you?"

She frowned slightly and tilted her head. "Do you really remember nothing, Mister Hare? You just gave Mr. Carroll and me our marriage license. We were just shaking hands when you fainted dead away."

"I…did?"

"Yes indeed, I'm afraid," the man, Mr. Carroll, apparently, replied. "I shouldn't be too worried, old boy. Nothing a good strong cup of tea couldn't help."

"Yes…yes, perhaps you're right," he mumbled. The woman, soon-to-be Mrs. Carroll, smiled and helped him into his seat.

"Well, thank you so much, Mr. Hare," she said happily. "You can't imagine how much this means to us."

"Yes, well, it's what we're here for…"

Mr. Carroll tipped his hat. "Cheerio, then. Mind that fainting."

"Right."

They left through the double doors and back out into the rain.

He looked over the paperwork he'd just certified and stamped, concerned that he couldn't remember doing it. It was all here, all perfectly ironclad…a regular, tightly bound marriage contract.

He nearly swallowed his tongue as he got to the information about name-changes.

Mr. and Mrs. Carroll had been, an hour ago, Jervis Tetch and Alice Pleasance.


End file.
